Enemy of My Enemy
by Tree of Arda
Summary: Snape's betrayal paves the way for complete chaos not only for wizards but sets up the Muggles for WWIII. A shadowy wizarding Brotherhood's appearance sparks panic and Luna helps Harry figure out if he is indeed his father's, or his mother's, son.
1. So It Begins

**Authors Notes:** Set post-events of Half-Blood Prince and probably AU (Alternative Universe) given some (very minor) assumptions I'm making. Otherwise, I do try to stick with canon / accepted 'facts' as much as possible and don't get too weird (e.g. James Potter is Severus' and Lily's love child from a time-altering potion gone wrong).

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Chapter 1: So it begins… 

A still, eerie quiet sat over Diagon Alley. It was quarter after eight in the evening and the sun had just begun to set, casting long, dark shadows over the infrequently traveled streets. The few brave patrons who visited Diagon Alley did so in packed, vigilant groups. The tightly huddled masses walked in a somber, yet fast-paced lock step as each member warily scanned the streets for the slightest hint of danger. It was the end of the day and a sizable number of shops remained open; most had their interior lights dimmed as to not draw attention. A few shops were closed, some for holiday, others simply closed early for the evening and perhaps a few - such as the boarded-up Florean's and the abandoned Ollivander's - were for good. Trash littered the street and abandoned sheets from the Daily Prophet flittered in the breeze as the wizarding world was far too occupied to deal with the mundane – or simply too terrified to venture outdoors long enough to tidy up.

In one of the darkest shadows, right inside Knockturn Alley, two wizards materialized – the sharp noise betrayed their otherwise stealth disapparation. The first, apparently a witch, bore a deep royal blue, hooded robe with small, intricate silver runes embroidered on the sleeve, a silver amulet around her neck and a thin, silver tie-rope around her petite waist. The second, about a half-head taller than the first, wore a dull, deep midnight blue hooded robe and a simple bronze amulet. He bore a black leather braided rope that featured about a dozen small glittering gems that were weaved into the rope in such a way that it was apparent that they were to be removed and simply not for decoration.

The two took in their surroundings, quickly ascertaining were they were at and who, or what, was nearby. The witch quickly put her left hand over her waist, where she apparently had something concealed in the folds of her garment.

"Should something happen…" she began.

"There is no one coming…" the other interrupted, his voice was young, but deep. "If we hurry…"

"No," said the witch, holding up her arm to stop the other from proceeding into the street. "The moon is rising," she said as she nodded to the glowing full orb that just starting to peek over the Quality Quidditch Supplies to the northeast. "The shadow cast from Gringotts will give us a clear passage. Besides, the Head Goblin insists on punctuality – not a moment to early or late – and literally a moment. We are early." She said the last with a sigh.

"We should have worn street clothes. We can transfigure…" the second whispered, looking around nervously.

"If we are noticed, then all the better. However, we need to make it seem that we don't wish to be seen," the witch corrected with a whisper. "We will wait."

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"Gabrielle, if you looked any prettier, you would outshine your sister," Molly Weasley said to the young witch and patted her affectionately on the head. "Are you finished Madame Malkin?" she asked the proprietor who was putting the last of several pins into the girl's dress robes as part of a final fitting. "It is getting dark, and, well… we do apologize for keeping you."

"I live above the store, so it is not an inconvenience at all," Madame Malkin replied with a smile. "So nice to see something… positive… hopeful and happy…" she said the last with a longing sigh. Dismissing the young girl to the dressing rooms, she added, "Now do mind the pins – and for goodness sake don't pick up that kneazel while wearing your dress." She turned back to Molly. "I do try to put non-sticking charms on all, but lately – well – my mind has been preoccupied with current events." The witch tried to manage a smile as the girl scampered off, her pace youthful and alive with a bountiful grace.

"Fleur, are you done yet?" Ginny Weasley called into the back room. "If you take any longer, you'll have to get married here…" She stopped abruptly as she heard a crack of someone disapparating by her side. It was Fleur, who was finally finished parading around in her wedding gown and back in her street clothes.

"Are you 'appy?" Fleur inquired, raising an eyebrow towards Ginny. The two then began to laugh. Their relationship, which had started out as strained, improved greatly over the last month. There was little to be happy or cheerful about and it certainly did not make any sense to create any new, or further any past frivolous, animosity.

"Now there are a few other minor items we need to discuss. Save you another trip, although I certainly would not mind the company…" Madame Malkin motioned for both Molly and Fleur to sit with her at a table. Soon Gabrielle was out of the dressing room, her dress hung neatly on a nearby hook and she sat on the floor with Ginny playing with her young kneazel, Tomas. A few months back, Bill and Fleur had given Tomas to her for her birthday and the girl simply refused to go anywhere without the kit in tow. Reaching into her pocket, Gabrielle pulled out a bright red ball and pulled her arm back to throw it.

"Gabby, no!" Ginny instantly recognized the innocent-looking ball as one of her twin brothers' creations and tried to intercept calamity by reaching out to stop the throw. But it was too late. The ball zipped from the girl's hand under its own power and ricocheted around the room, knocking over what it could not bounce off. In one of its errant bounces it hit against the door latch, popping the door open and with another couple of lightening-fast zips it was out the door- with the kneazel and the young French girl dashing behind into the desolate Diagon Alley dusk.

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"Hermione! Is that you!" Jane Granger stood at the doorstep and looked at the young woman who opened the door. "It's been too long… entirely too long!" the old woman cried out in glee and then pulled the younger woman into an affectionate bear hug. After the greeting, the woman let go, patted Hermione gently on the shoulder and entered the house, Hermione following, carrying her grandmother's luggage inside.

"Where's Grandfather?" Hermione asked, but somehow knowing the answer. Although he was near retirement, his work required him to travel extensively; often he was on the road for weeks at a time. She never exactly knew what he did - an engineering consultant for a large British contractor was what she had been told and she assumed that he did top-secret work in various British military and government installations around the world. In fact, she had seen the man only a couple of times since she had started at Hogwarts, and if pressed, perhaps only a dozen times more the previous years of her life. Grandma Jane, on the other hand, frequently visited the Grangers, although Hermione was rarely home and missed the vast majority of her visits over the past six years.

"Oh, on his way," Jane replied with a smile, although she knew too, that there would be an inevitable delay. "Tomorrow, or the next…" she said in a paced voice accompanied by a slight shake to her head betraying a slight disappointment. "But this is his last trip! Finishing up this project… always last minute details to hand over and you know him, so very thorough. You certainly take after him a great deal." She looked at the girl with affection and then added, "Yes, very much so."

Hermione smiled and set the luggage by the stairs and then escorted her grandmother to the kitchen where her parents were preparing dinner. After exchanging pleasantries, with her son, Sheldon Granger and daughter-in-law Caroline, Jane settled in and then joined the family for a quick dinner before returning to the living room to relax.

"He's in Japan now… I think," Jane said thoughtfully. "Or was that last week…? Anyhow, that will be over soon. Finally, it'll be just Malcolm and I – and I'll clobber him if he extends his retirement again. Seventy is old enough and although I never believed in mandatory retirement age before, I certainly do now." She then chuckled and smiled sweetly as her son held up his after-dinner brandy in salute. "Oh, before I forget…" she explained, "I must show you this. I was thinking of making a collage and getting a very suitable frame."

She went upstairs to fetch something from her luggage. When she returned she carried a large manila envelope. Opening it, she produced thick stack of old, yellowing photos that she sat on a cleared portion of the living room coffee table. "You would never believe where I got these, Sheldon!" she said as she looked to her son. "The Knobles sent them just a few weeks ago. Apparently they were remodeling and found them under the floorboards in your father's old study. I thought it was so kind of them to send it and to be honest, I didn't expect them to be still in the house, let alone remember us enough to look us up! It's been what…at least 30 years?" She asked rhetorically.

Hermione picked up a photo. It was captioned 'Halloween 1928 – Hoss' Best Day.' "Odd paper, Grandma" she said, noting mentally how the paper had a strange feel and almost a 3-D like appearance, not much unlike the wizarding photos she was accustomed to seeing. The image, which was in black and white - rather more like shades of brown and grey - showed four men, all who appeared to be in their early to mid-twenties. Three of the men were sitting at a table, all holding a 'thumbs up' while the fourth, a man with light colored hair and a light mustache, stood off to the side, talking to a very beautiful woman who appeared, from what Hermione could see, to be quite captivated by him. A man who looked like a much younger version of her grandfather sat on the far left, while another man, who had very familiar looking blonde hair and piercing pale eyes, sat next to him. Odd, though, it was as if everyone in the photo was holding his or her breath.

"Well, old processing methods plus being under floorboards – I'm sure the silver in the photos had a strange reaction," the older woman said nodding her head. "I'm surprised- and grateful - that they're in such good condition all considering." She took the photo and held it up and chuckled, "Quite some get-ups there. I've certainly have not seen anything like it. They must have been at some Renaissance Faire or something…" She pointed at a cut-off sign in the photo that read "aire".

"Oh," Hermione said simply, noting that everyone in the photo was dressed in robes or cloaks. Gently taking the photo back, she tilted it back and forth a few times and noted that the photo did not move and then she shook it back and forth.

"It's not a Polaroid, dear," Jane said to her granddaughter, confused by young woman's behavior.

"Oh, yes, of course," Hermione replied and blushed, silently chiding herself as her family were as Muggle, if not more so, than even Harry's aunt and uncle. She turned the photo over and on the back was some writing, most of it badly smudged, but she could make out the names of 'Me', 'Rax', 'Reggie' and 'Hoss' with the last names smudged and faded unreadable with age. "This can't be of Grandpa, though," Hermione noted as she flipped back to the front. "This photo is dated 1928 and his name isn't on the back. He was born in 1927, wasn't he? Maybe this is of a relative, his father or and uncle perhaps?"

"Hmm…" Jane took into consideration of what her Granddaughter had said. "To be honest, I recognized him and really didn't read, or think about, any of these dates. Well, although this would ruin the present, I'd hate to do a collage of photos of him and his friends and it turn out it wasn't him. That does make me feel better about some things though."

"Oh? What's that?" Caroline Granger asked, pouring a smidgen more brandy for herself and her mother-in-law.

Jane reached into the envelope again and pulled out a smaller white envelope. Opening it, she elaborated, "I assumed this was from his university days or perhaps he was at one time a member of the Freemasons or something similar." Pulling out the photos she handed them to Caroline who flipped through them one by one as Sheldon and Hermione leaned in and looked on. The photos showed Malcolm with a variety of other men and women, all wearing dark robes with hoods. The images themselves were not that disturbing, but in the background was a large round metal plaque, a shield, rather, which bore the skeletal face of a strange bird-like animal in the center and a feathered serpent forming an ouroboros around the edge. Hermione took one photo that showed the clearest picture of this shield and examined it closely.

"Thoth," she said and then cleared her throat realizing that she had said it out loud. Seeing that her family was looking at her intently she added. "Commonly known as the Egyptian god of the moon, writing, judgment and… err… magic..." She placed the photo back with the others her mother was holding and added. "The dates on these are 1942, well at least the one I just had. The man who looks like Grandpa looks a bit older than fifteen." She glanced warily at the pile of photos. "Seriously, I'd say that they're a joke. Someone probably sent them to…"

The living room wall exploded inward before Hermione could finish her sentence.

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"You must understand," Arthur Weasley said in a serious tone, "This is taking a far greater toll on your mother that you realize. You may have fared well all considering, Bill, but to her it was a 'near miss' and too close for comfort. She lost her brothers and a cousin in the last war and way too many friends to mention. With the losses in the Order, and especially with Dumbledore, she's just terrified of what will happen next. I think that's why she's immersed herself in the wedding – in some way trying to keep her mind off of it. And," he added, "that's why she's put everything aside regarding Fleur and have welcomed her and Gabby into the home – and even Harry for that matter previous to this– to make up for all those she's lost and in her own way try to make up for things that have been completely beyond her control."

Arthur patted his eldest son on the shoulder and then called over to Fred who was wrapping up a sale with a patron, the patron's group standing nervously at the door, ready to dash out at a moment's notice. "Fred, we need to meet them at Malkins soon and I'm not particularly keen on trying to get home too late after dark." He looked to Bill again, who was a bit pale and looking a tad nervous. Although Fenrir's bite did not make him a full werewolf, Bill did end up with a few 'wolfish' tendencies. And, given this was his second full moon after the attack – the first he was a bit 'testier' than normal – he felt it best to spend his time in the basement while the moon had rose and join the family after it had set. Their general plan was to gather the witches at Malkins, escort them back to the shop and use Fred and George's private floo in their upstairs apartment to get home where Bill could retire to the basement. That is, as soon as they got the signal from Molly to go get them and as soon as the twins could close up shop.

"Too late for that," George added, pointing out the window to the dark skies. He immediately put down what he was doing and went over to help his twin brother, hoping their doubled efforts would speed things along.

"Gabby's in the street!" Ron said quickly pointing out the display window. "Following that stupid kneazel!" Ron opened the door and yelled down the street, "Gabby, stop… we'll find her later… we'll…"

Before he could finish, the sounds of loud snaps filled the air, as a dozen black-clad Death Eaters disapparated in the street. In the skies above, a cadre of dementors circled overhead like evil birds of prey, making room through their masses for a few werewolves who were descending; apparently using Port keys to arrive at their destination.

Gabrielle simply froze where she stood, too terrified to move, her screams drowned out by the other patrons who were caught outdoors, and all oblivious to the two figures running towards her from Knockturn Alley.


	2. Loss

**Author's Notes:** I'm trying desperately to put in section breaks, but the fanfiction editor won't let me. Any suggestions are welcome, but they seem not to allow special characters, so I'm just using the word 'section' which is lame, but the best I can do for now.

**Chapter 2: Loss**

Gabrielle crouched to the ground and rolled into a tight ball, her hands over her head and her elbows tucked in tightly to her body. She sat still, breathing heavily as the war waged around her, praying that she would, through some unknown miracle, remain unseen. Around her Death Eaters attacked the unfortunate patrons left outside, scattering random curses in the air as the deep greens, reds and purples made dull, deadly flashes in the misty unnaturally cold night air. She could see her breath, a small reassurance that she was still alive and slowly she lifted her head to see if she could retreat. She saw Bill and his family rush from the twin's shop, their wands bore and the milky whisps of various patronous emerging from their tips. She looked back to Malkin's. Fleur was huddled in the doorway, her beautiful face frozen in terror while Molly used all her might, short of a binding hex, to keep Ginny from running out into the fray.

The young girl swallowed and went to turn towards Malkins, hoping to make a dash. Before she could move she heard a deadly growl and out of the corner of her eye could see dripping saliva that was forming a pool near her. She looked up and saw a full-grown werewolf staring hungrily at her. It had an evil, calculating smile, as if it were a wizard simply in a werewolf costume and not a rampaging animal. But it was on a hunt, and beyond any reasoning - it simply had the wherewithal to be more cunning. The creature lunged at her and she screamed and scrambled between its legs. It turned quickly and she pulled out her wand aiming a Bat-Bogey Hex squarely in its face. The werewolf howled in confusion as batified bogeys oozed from its nostrils, but the hex just angered the beast further and only briefly paused its attack. It lunged again at the girl, but a force pulled her back in enough time that the werewolf's claws only got a hold of the front of her jumper, putting five ragged horizontal rips across it.

She felt a strong hand on her shoulder push her towards Malkin's doorway. "Run!" she heard the young hooded wizard scream at her.

Gabrielle ran for Malkin's, which fortunately was not far away. The werewolf turned away from the wizard and took a step towards the girl.

"Mortecorpusvulsum!" the wizard shouted before the werewolf had a chance to close it's pace. An odd white glow emitted from his wand and the energy from the spell took the form of two hideous ghostly skeleton apparitions that sported long, piercing fangs and razor-sharp claws. The conjured spirits screeched an unearthly wail and rapidly enveloped the werewolf, violently consuming it by ripping fur and flesh from the body. The werewolf shrieked in terrible agony, its sound piercing through the Alley for a few long seconds as the apparitions continued their feast. When the wraiths finished only gleaming, picked-clean white bones remained in a disorganized heap on the street.

"You… You!" A Death Eater, bloodied from the battle screamed, seething with anger and hatred. He looked down to the pile of bones shuffling his feet through them. "What have you… what?" He tore back his hood and threw his mask to the ground. His face was boney and bleak, framed with matted, dirty, graying hair and his mouth sported pointed, jagged yellow teeth. His jaundiced eyes narrowed as he stared down the wizard, leveling his wand as two other Death Eaters joined him, they too surveying the damage from the fatal curse. He motioned for the two others to stand down and behind him. "Show your face, Warlock!" he cried.

The wizard pulled back his hood with his non-wand hand.

"He's a bloody whelp, Rabastan!" the one Death Eater to the left laughed. "Malfoy's boy is older than his is, I'd wager." The Death Eater took a step forward, and in a quick, fluid movement, pulled out his wand and threw a violent curse of zig-zagging purple light toward the youth as he made a slight, disingenuous bow. "Antonin Dolohov… a pleasure…"

"My Lord!" Arthur Weasley called out as he witnessed the unfolding scene. "Fred, George… Ron… get the others inside! Bill…" He did not finish his sentence before Bill sprinted across the street, protected only by a strong shielding spell.

"Nooooo!" the hooded witch, the companion to the young wizard screamed. Although only less than a few meters away, she apparated from her spot and disapparated next to the young wizard and pushed him out of the way in time for the curse to hit; immediately crumpling to the ground as the dark spell tore into her body.

The young man staggered a few steps, but quickly regained his footing. Seeing his fallen comrade, his youthful face twisted with rage and he yelled, his focus sharper than it had ever had been - "Liquiduscorpus!" – and a bright yellow light burst from his wand.

Dolohov froze and his body went into a bizarre seizure. His movements were rapid and jerky, becoming more and more rapid until he was but a blur, his screams distorted by his unnaturally fast movements. Then, Dolohov began to shrink, slowly at first and then quickly, like a melting candle thrown into a blazing fire. His black robes piled onto the street as his body transformed into a gooey yellowish liquid.

The second Death Eater fled and Rabastan Lestrange stepped back, avoiding the spreading pool of goo that was his former colleague. Stunned, he stared at the boy for a moment until another Death Eater clasped him on the shoulder. Sounds of sharp cracks from disapparting Aurors filled the air. Rabastan then growled and apparated with a crack, leaving the last Death Eater – one with long whiteish-blonde hair peeking just slightly from beneath his hood – to regard the boy for just a moment before he too apparated.

The young wizard then went to his companion, lifting her head slightly. Blood trickled from her mouth, but there was no breath. He felt her pulse and there too was none. He gently sat her head back down on the road and carefully reached into her robes, pulling out the small package that she carried. The wizard paused for a second silently staring at the witch, his long fingers darting for a second along her silver medallion – not with intention purloin, but rather a small display of reverence.

"I'm sorry…" Bill stammered as he cautiously approached, uncertain if the wizard would attack him but harboring a suspicion he would not. Bill looked at the witch's face. She was older than her companion, even older than himself, and there was something familiar about her that he just could not place. "Err… thank you…" he added, nodding towards the pile of bones. "I'm a cure-breaker for Gringotts and that's one that I haven't seen…" Bill added trying unsuccessfully to make some light in a very uncomfortable, terse situation.

Hearing the word 'Gringotts' the boy snapped his head up and looked towards the imposing marble building. Nodding at Bill, he then dashed towards the entry, making it only half way before he fell to an Auror's stupefy spell.

/section/

The force of the explosion knocked Hermione and her family to the floor and a blinding white light filled the room. Glass, wood and other items that were once their possessions turned into deadly missiles, whipping around the room in a violent maelstrom. Hermione's Grandmother lay still next to the overturned coffee table; a deep wound to her head seeped blood turning her silver-grey hair a deathly crimson. Hermione ducked and crawled towards the stairs hoping to reach her room and, ultimately, her wand. But she did not get far before a force drug her out of the house and in a moment's time she was hanging upside down several stories over her street.

"Hermione! What is going on!" Her mother cried as she hung, suspended in midair, only a few meters away from Hermione. Below them a cadre of Death Eaters, about a half-dozen in all swarmed the street. Those who did not directly attack the Grangers were now raiding the neighbors' houses; fires burned throughout the neighborhood and the normally quiet night was punctured with terrified screams.

"Let them go!" Hermione yelled down to the black-robed assailants. "I'm the one you want…!"

"True that, Mudblood," a familiar voice rang up to her.

She could feel the spell let go and she plunged, bouncing painfully onto the ground. She tried to scramble to her feet but the pain of the fall - which would have killed, or at least greatly injured a Muggle - was too overwhelming.

"Crucio!" the all-too familiar voice called out.

Hermione writhed in pain; every nerve and point in her body seared like it was engulfed in white-hot flame. Harry's description of the curse certainly did not do it justice. Her involuntary screams echoed around her, but were easily drowned out by the laughter of Death Eaters and the terrified wails of their other victims. When the curse lifted, she lay still on the ground, panting, her muscles aching as if she had just come from a week's worth of hard labor. But the reprise was only brief before her tormentor used a series of charms and curses to lift her up from the ground and spun her around, flinging her across the street into the neighbors' houses and back again several times. Suddenly the attack stopped and she was let go, her body flung, rolling down the street like a discarded rag doll.

Barely aware if she was alive or dead, Hermione struggled to open her eyes. She saw Malfoy approaching, his hood and mask pulled off and then, another Death Eater disapparated not far from him, his arriving crack so sharp and distinct that it made the others take notice. She used what little strength she had to look for her parents. Her father was still about twenty meters in the air, being spun wildly about. Her mother, however, was on the ground, her body convulsing as an aftermath of the cocktail of curses her Death Eater torturers inflicted.

"Sir!" Malfoy stopped and turned to the hooded figure. The other Death Eaters stopped what they were doing and approached, their heads bowed slightly.

Hermione took in a deep, jagged breath and could feel the blood spatter between her teeth. Could this be Voldemort, himself, she wondered? But the gait was too familiar. Snape approached quickly, pushing Malfoy to the side as he passed.

"Fool!" he turned and yelled to Malfoy. "You were told to attack Muggles only! A high-profile target, not some side neighborhood and certainly not to settle some petty personal vendetta!" Snape issued a quick incantation and Hermione rose from the ground and he turned back to face the witch. She looked at Snape, his dark eyes glittering under his evil mask. "The Diagon Alley attack is finished… some… unforeseen complications. The Aurors will be here any second…" He turned around quickly again, his cloak swishing ominously in the night air. "Finish and go!" he commanded.

"Gladly…" Malfoy smiled. He got out his wand and pointed it towards Hermione. He paused for a moment and she could almost see him practicing the spell, if that would give him the nerve to actually do it.

"To truly torment someone is to hurt their loved ones," Snape said in a bored tone, as if he were giving a first year potions lesson. He then quickly stepped behind Hermione.

Malfoy nodded and turned. Pointing his wand at Hermione's father, he broke the levitation charm, sending them man falling. Hermione started to scream, but Snape covered her mouth. She could taste a bitter liquid and then the world blurred around her before going dark.

/section/

"Several attacks across London have raised suspicions of terrorist activities," Ted Tonks announced, his face ashen and his eyes darting across the teleprompter. "The Prime Minister is in an emergency meeting as we speak and should have an official announcement any moment… just in… some live video from Charing Cross Road…" The television picture then changed to a night sky, with a horrifying, bright green Dark Mark glowing ominously for a few moments before the camera returned to the newsroom. The anchor was not facing the camera, but apparently talking to someone offstage. "You got that?… err… I mean… what is that?" The inquiry was unconvincing to Harry Potter who was watch the late evening news with is Aunt, Uncle, and cousin. Aunt Petunia let out a horrified gasp and Harry only swallowed hard.

"That's one of your freak things?" Uncle Vernon asked in between stuffing his face with potato chips. Although Aunt Petunia had Dudley, and Harry by proxy, on a low calorie diet to curb Dudley's rapid weight gain, Uncle Vernon announced that he had enough and ate pretty much what he felt and when. Harry didn't mind, or care much, but Dudley began taking on the characteristics of an unusually large, bulbous terrier that was well trained in begging for occasional snacks.

"Now one of OUR things…" Aunt Petunia answered for Harry. "They're now out in the open… they don't care… there's nothing for them to fear." Harry looked over to his Aunt, surprised that she was astute enough to understand the implications.

The live cameras then changed their view to an ordinary neighborhood. Most of the houses were severely damaged, some on fire and police and firefighters ran about behind the reporter. Tarps littered the streets, covering what could only be assumed to be bodies. "We're here at Riley Way in Hounslow and there appears to have been some sort of attack," the reporter began.

"That's where Herm—" Harry began but was 'shushed' by Uncle Vernon.

"Mr. Lawston, could you tell me what you saw?" the reporter inquired sitting next to a middle-aged man who was huddled under a blanket.

"They came out of no where… not a single vehicle or anything. I was coming home from a night walk and they just appeared out of thin air. I was able to hide over there…" He pointed to some heavy bushes near a small community part. "They had special weapons… if I wasn't certain I'd swear they had magic wands. Could simply lift people into the air – several stories - and drop them. They did that to the Grangers…"

Harry bolted straight up from his chair but he was completely speechless. He just stood there, staring at the screen, unsure what to do or how to react.

"Please sir, keep in mind that the authorities…" the reporter began but then stopped as yelling pieced the night air. He turned towards the noise and the cameraman pointed the camera down the street where dozens of people were simply appearing out of nowhere. Off camera, the reported commentated, "They're coming out of thin air… I can't explain it. Are you seeing this? Can you get the sound, Ted? Sharp cracking… like the air is being distorted. I see a few of them with sticks… a bright light… they're coming closer… Oh!" And the broadcast turned to static. A moment later Ted Tonks face returned to the television, again, he was talking to someone off stage.

"What do you mean CNN has picked this up… simultaneous broadcast across Europe!… instant feed for American evening news?" Ted's face looked even more pale.

"Aurors and Oblivators," Harry tried to explain his mind still numb. "They're spread too thin… and now its out…" Harry said quietly. "Now what…?"

By some act of unconscious willpower, he sprinted out of the living room and up the stairs to his room. Getting out his wand, he issued a few spells that would quickly pack his things into his large trunk. He pulled Hedwig's cage off the perch and set it to the side.

"Where are you going?" Uncle Vernon inquired. "Now that we care… but… bloody hell, will you close the curtains?" He pushed across the room, dodging the flying items that were making their way into Harry's trunk. "Someone might see! Besides, you're still underage… for another week anyhow."

"I bloody don't think the Ministry will Magic will give a holler right now! I doubt that this…" Harry waved at his trunk. "Will make the second page of their fifth list of 'Things to Do!'" When the things were packed, he slammed the lid and locked it. Levitating the trunk and Hedwig's cage, he marched down the stairs with his possessions in tow. He opened the door, ignoring Vernon's plea that the neighbors don't see. "They're glued to their teles now and besides," Harry turned and added, "I really don't care. Consider this an early birthday gift from me to you."

Uncle Vernon's eyes lit up and the first time in a very long time he had a wide, genuine smile on his face and did a little jig in celebration on the way to the kitchen.

Harry exited the house and went to the curb. He lifted his wand to hail the Knight Bus. He turned his back for a moment and saw Aunt Petunia's silhouette in the doorway.

"Goodbye, Harry," she said simply and then closed the door.

/ END CHAPTER /

Author's Notes: Hope you enjoyed and be sure to sign up for any announcements if you want to be clued into new chapters. Also, reviews / comments welcome.


	3. Knights and Disciples

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the delay, but life happens. Comments are appreciated. Oh, Sharky, thanks for the input and have listened to your suggestions. Thanks!

**Chapter 3: Knights and Disciples**

The Knight Bus deposited Harry outside of a Muggle community park, not unlike the one near the Dursley's. A number of homes were still engulfed in flames and Aurors and Oblivators ran around in a futile attempt to subdue the Muggles who were scurrying around like doxies fleeing spray. Most of the Muggles appeared to be local residents while the remainder were drawn by curiosity or were members of the Muggle police, fire departments, or news reporters. Harry stowed his trunk under a large bush, charming it with a camouflage spell for good measure. Taking Hedwig from his cage, Harry then conjured up some paper and a pen, writing a quick note to the Weasleys telling them where he was and if they didn't mind his company later this evening.

Harry took out his wand and lit the end for additional light. The street lamps were all burned out or knocked over and the clouds covered the evening's full moon; the backlight coating the sky with a sinister dark blue hue. He sprinted down the street yelling out, "Hermione! Hermione!"

"Stop right there!" a voice punctured the surrounding chaos. The yellow light of a warning shot raced in front of Harry. His refined reflexes, honed from both Quiddich and his many dangerous adventures, allowed him to dodge the spell just in time.

"Dawlish?" Harry asked, cocking his head slightly as he identified the wizard.

"Not quite the time for a friendly reunion now, is it?" Dawlish snarled. "Always the wrong place at the wrong time!"

Harry looked around waving his hand, "I think you have a few better things to do than deal with me! Or are you going to knock me out, eliminate the Muggles and pretend this hasn't happened? Because of you – people like you – in the Ministry… this all happened! We were not prepared all because it was simpler – easier – to sit in denial! And now, what do we have! Muggles know just about everything – it is shown on their televisions for evening entertainment."

"We simply obtain their… erm… tapes, erase a few memories…" Dawlish began dismissively. "Yes, a large task… but…"

"Over two billion… no probably THREE BILLION people!" Harry screamed. "You are so out of touch, so arrogant… not only don't you know where or what the Death Eaters are doing, but the Ministry hasn't even bothered to keep up with Muggle technology! It was broadcast all over the world… Britain… the rest of Europe, America, Asia… EVERYWHERE! They caught Aurors and Oblivators on their cameras! How do you think I knew to come here? I'm sitting in my Muggle Aunt's house and this…" Harry waved his arms and hands around exaggeratingly, "was on the evening news! What are you planning on doing? Put a memory erasing potion in all Muggles' drinking water and hope for the best?!"

Dawlish stood there for a moment, as the realization of the extent of what happened finally dawned on him. "I should call them off… or at least help the Muggles… doesn't really matter now does it… if they see magic…?" As the Auror babbled various rationalizations, the two heard a loud noise in the sky as something was approaching.

"Helicopters," Harry said. "Sound big… probably military." He pointed to the sky and in the far distance he could see lights. Then he looked at Dawlish, "Don't underestimate them again and I doubt that they think you and the others have been 'helping.'" Harry looked around again. "I need to find Hermione, my friend…"

Dawlish nodded as he remembered the girl as one of Harry's sidekicks. "I personally haven't seen any young women and as far as the wounded and incapacitated goes, none I know of appeared out to be witches." Dawlish paused and pointed to a neat row of tarp-covered mounds. "We tried to do what we could… to… erm… tidy up the dead…" Dawlish grabbed the arm of a passing by Oblivator and instructed him, nodding towards Harry. "Help the boy to see if he can identify anyone." Dawlish then took a deep breath. Shaking he put his wand up to his throat. In an amplified voice, he commanded. "Cease oblivation operations! Put out the fires and assist the wounded – you are authorized to use magic if needed! Apparate when the Muggle authorities in the…" he turned to Harry.

"Helicopters," Harry whispered.

"Apparte when the Muggle authorities in the helicopters arrive…" Dawlish finished. Seeing the startled and hesitating Aurors and Oblivators, he barked, "I MEAN NOW!"

Harry ran over to the row bodies. He called out Hermione's name, immediately realizing how stupid that was, if she were, indeed among them. He lifted one cover after the other, whispering to himself that perhaps she was at the Order Headquarters or at Ron's place – anything he could think of trying to convince himself that she couldn't possibly be…

And then next tarp he turned over yielded a familiar face of a man. Battered and bloody, but Hermione's father nonetheless.

"Shoo!" he heard the Oblivator cry out. Harry turned to the direction and saw the wizard trying to scare off a large ginger cat away from a body. The cat hissed and swatted at the wizard, finally leaping up to bite his hand. "Ow… you little…"

"Crookshanks!" Harry called out and rushed over. He pulled back the tarp and froze. He gingerly placed his hand on Hermione's face, tracing down her cold skin. Her bushy hair was matted and caked with blood and her face was badly bruised. "Oh… Hermione…" Harry said and then lifted his friend up into his arms, holding her as he sobbed. "I did this… I… so… sorry…" He held his friend for a while, rocking back and forth, making no sound and tears streamed down his face. After a few long seconds, he could feel the Oblivator's hand on his shoulder.

"So sorry, mate," the wizard said. "But the Muggles…" the deafening sound of the helicopters rocketed through the air and the sky was now lit up like midday from the spotlights. He handed Harry what appeared to be a Muggle pocket lighter. "I assume you can't apparate yet, or at least with the body and the cat… that takes a bit of practice. Just flick it and say where you need to go. St. Mungo's morgue, I'm afraid, would perhaps be your best first stop."

Harry, still on his knees, gathered Hermione in his arms. He fought back the tears, and worse, the reminder that this was so similar in many ways to bringing back Cedric's body, and called Crookshanks over. Flicking the lighter on, he stared at the strange blue and green flame before calling out "St. Mungo's Morgue" in a choked voice.

* * *

"I am so very sorry to call you back here, Molly, especially since it is so late," Mad Eye Moody explained apologetically. "Given everything going on I would have thought that Scrimgeour would have different priorities – such as keeping the Muggles from forming mobs and having a good ole fashioned burnin'-at-the-stake." Neither Arthur nor Molly replied but kept walking alongside. The morgue halls were dark and foreboding; dim torches barely lit the corridors.

"You realize this doesn't make any sense," Arthur said, putting a comforting arm around his wife's shoulders. "Her cousin was killed years ago."

"Well, we thought that of Pettigrew too," Moody replied. Seeing Molly's eyes flash, he coughed and added quickly, "She may have used the attempt as an opportunity. Our sources tell us that she left Britain in late August 1979 – the same time that that Barty Crouch, Jr. said that 'Death Eaters' attacked the two of them with her being 'carried off' and presumed dead. Sounds a lot like what happened to Caradoc, but we know Crouch was a Death Eater and what he said was an apparent lie. She must have made her way to… well… anyhow, we need you to identify her."

"I've only seen her a few times in my life. After I married Arthur… well… my Uncle and his wife were not particularly welcoming," Molly explained as they continued to walk. They finally arrived at a large marble door.

Moody opened it and the trio entered into a large, cold room. The room had rows upon rows of tall marble slabs - and a good number of foldable wooden tables that were used to cover the overflow - all covered with tarps with the telltale shapes of bodies underneath. "Fortunately," Moody said, "the vast majority of these are probably Muggles. Not that's fortunate in any way, but a loss like this of our people in Britain, let alone London, would be devastating."

"How did this all happen?" Molly asked. "I mean… most of the Death Eaters were in Azkaban…"

"Best we can figure is that it was a highly coordinated attack, planned for several months if not a good year in advance," Moody explained. "The imprisoned Death Eaters literally used Azkaban as shelter – the dementors were gone and they probably could have escaped at any time – the Ministry assumed that they were 'out of circulation.' But what happened is that they worked with those on the outside for a massive attack and then… BAM! BAM!" Moody shouted the last while simultaneously slamming his metal foot against the floor generating a startling, apocalyptic thunder, "they escaped and simultaneously went to their designated attack point. Hit hard – WHAM - and then went to the next target - WHAM! Four groups in all, the largest combining forces with werewolves and Dementors."

"In Diagon Alley, we know," Arthur said. "We were there…" As they approached the table, the two Weasleys let out a short gasp. "That's the witch who was killed in Diagon Alley!" Arthur added.

"And we suspect who is your cousin, Molly, Desdemona Prewett," Moody replied.

Molly approached the table and studied the face carefully. "I don't know… it has been so long… close to twenty years. I have some old photos that might help… how do you even know what you do know?"

"We got the name from the boy," Moody answered. "Said her name was Desdemona and his was Ignatius. Didn't provide a last name and I think he really didn't know it. Those people don't go by last names much…"

"Ignatius is my Uncle's name… and Desdemona was certainly my cousin's name – do you mean that young man is her son!?" Molly gasped in a rhetorical conclusion. As she saw Moody nod, she conjured up a chair and sat down. "Oh the poor thing… he'd be what… no more than seventeen?" Then she shook her head and cocked it to the side as she inquired, "What do you mean by 'Those people'."

"He wouldn't give his birth date, but I'd judge his age between fifteen and seventeen – using the upper figure given the date Desdemona disappeared," Moody replied.

"You didn't answer my question," Molly replied, her voice registering a significant degree of agitation, "and as a mother of seven I'm better trained than the best Auror to know when someone is avoiding something."

Moody closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, his mouth contorting as if he were trying to find the words. Arthur, however, cleared his throat and started to explain for him. "There are certain, ahem, groups of wizards and witches who dabble in the more… err… arcane areas of magic. Kind of like a fraternal order with different, very distinct segments." Arthur conjured up a piece of paper and a quill and began to draw. "Think of it as a triangle… at the bottom are three groups. Mind you that these groups became quite separate and independent centuries ago. The first two," he drew two blocks side by side, with a small space in between, "do have some interaction and are relatively benign. The Order of Warlocks – Dumbledore was in fact their chief although it was more of a ceremonial position – and their members provide many valuable services such as advanced Auror and Hit Wizard training, very advanced training for Gringotts curse breakers, Unspeakables… the like. The second," he pointed to the second box and began to write, "are the Eyes of Uller. Most vampire hunters – well the legitimate ones anyhow – belong here. They follow a strict code and must abide by certain rules. Basically they make sure non-humans are treated fairly and if a non-human goes astray they employ more of a 'track and capture' than a 'seek and destroy' mode."

"Half the time they're after freelance vampire hunters who thinks it's fashionable or macho to go after vampires just for the hell of it," Moody added. "You see, they and the vampires have a rather respectful relationship. Vampires really don't want one of their own doing… erm… non-sanctioned hunting for fear of a backlash while the Ullers rely on tips from vampires for some creatures, such as manticores, which can be quite tricky to locate and capture. One of these freelances gets in the way too much… well… chances are the ill-trained yahoo will be someone's lunch and the Ullers will look the other way." Moody stuck out his upper jaw showing his canine teeth for emphasis and sported a grizzled smile. Returning back to business, he added, "Anyhow, if you're not 100 sure, we should get you back to your home and Arthur can bring in the photos tomorrow…"

"This doesn't look like a triangle…" Molly interjected as she pointed to the paper and not moving from her chair.

"Fine," Moody said exasperated that the witch refused to take the hint and took the paper and quill from Arthur. "The last of the three bottom blocks are the Knights of the Walpurgis…"

"Death Eaters?!" Molly exclaimed.

"They're now known as that," Moody corrected. "The Knights at one time helped to defend wizards from Muggles. Made sure we were not persecuted and laid the foundation, alone with the various Ministries, to ensure our world was separate from the Muggles. We like to think it's for the Muggle's protection, but in actuality it's for ours. Over time, these paternalistic roots were corrupted and festered in hatred of Muggles and anyone that isn't 'Pure-Blood' – stemming from the one time fear that those without pure-blood could be coerced to turn over other wizards and witches by their Muggle family or associates. The name 'Death Eaters' took hold about one hundred years ago, under Grindelwald who really didn't get up to steam until forty years after that."

"Dumbledore defeated him…" Molly added anxiously.

"Technically vanquished," Moody replied, praying the witch didn't ask him to define the difference. "However, the group was then led by one of Grindelwald's most skilled followers and a protégé of sorts – and we know 'who' that is." Molly nodded in understanding. Moody then drew a triangle above the other three blocks. "This group here is the key… what we suspect your cousin and her son - probably he was born into it - had become part of." He cleared his throat and looked over to Arthur. "Battlemages, War Mages, Children of Hecate, Cult of Aton, Soul Hunters, Necromancers… these are a few names that they have been called over the years – but these are merely descriptions of the various disciplines within their order - their true name is the 'Desciples of Thoth'. It is said that all magic – every incantation, spell or potion, good or seeped in Dark Arts - is automatically recorded in their libraries the moment it is created… that they have knowledge of healing, destruction, charms, transfiguration… you name it… including death. They have knowledge beyond that the Department of Mysteries and the most astute Unspeakable would ever consider in their wildest dreams."

"I don't understand why this is necessarily bad," Molly replied. "Sounds like a bunch of librarians to me and I certainly didn't see them joining the Death Eaters in the fight and the boy… Ignatius… poor thing… he saved Gabrielle and killed Dolohov – the same Death Eater who helped to kill my brothers…" Molly then began to weep and wrung her hands. "May I see him? He needs to know that we're here… he probably doesn't know we exist."

"Poor thing isn't quite the words I'd use to describe him," Moody huffed and Arthur nodded in agreement. "The spells he used were rather… erm… 'non-standard'."

"And trying to rip apart a little girl is fairly 'non-standard' as well!" Molly shouted back, surprising the two wizards. "Maybe it is time we took off the gloves!"

"Listen," Moody said softly, patting her shoulder as he tried to calm the witch down. "They're not necessarily 'good'. Any wizard or witch powerful enough to pass through the protective barriers of their fortress has open access to their libraries. They're irresponsible in that they use power of ability and thirst for knowledge - not moral character - in determining who has access to even the most horrible, immoral of Dark Arts spells. Dumbledore told me that Grindelwald was part of their ranks at one time and once he absorbed all of the knowledge he could, he left and finished the corruption of the Walpurgis. Grindelwald also sent off his protégé, giving him the location of the fortress to 'save time'. The Disciples knowledge has been used to destroy cities – Atlantis itself a victim of 'accidentally' summoned fire demons – or create monstrosities; for example the dementors were an experiment by modifying leithfolds and inferi were a failed experiment to resurrect the dead. It's bad enough when they're hidden away; it's a small condolence that at least a bit of their knowledge they discreetly share with the Order of Warlocks, among others, and a complete library of all magical knowledge in itself does have some value. However, weighing the good and the bad… personally, I think we could do without them because whenever they come out in the open, very, very bad things happen."

The three paused for a few moments and turned back to the dead witch's body. As Molly rose from her chair for another look at her cousin before going back home, the three heard a sharp thunderclap like noise right near them. Startled, they all jumped and turned towards the sound. Harry was sitting on the floor, cradling a body as a familiar ginger cat mewed insistently and nudged the body's clenched left hand. Harry looked up, his face streaming in tears. There was a sick silence as the realization of what was happening stuck them. Molly let out a horrified, devastated scream and collapsed to the ground.

* * *

"You know, there are better things I should be doing than babysitting you," Shacklebolt said with a growl as he nudged a shackled boy down the hall. They had just finished visiting a medi-witch who had attended to a large cut on the boy's forehead. The boy shuffled his feet, his dark hair plastered to his head, a combination of sweat, the weight of his hood (which was now pulled back) and a natural tendency of his hair. His robes billowed as he moved as his tie rope was confiscated. The boy held his head level, occasionally looking around the hallway in curiosity, and his breathing was slow and paced, as if he was trying to project an indifferentce about the situation; but Shacklebolt knew the youngster was scared to death. "Just tell us what the hell is going on and things will get a lot easier." The Auror softened his voice and leaned in to whisper into the boy's ear. "Now, listen, I really don't want to be hard on you and I'd like to tell everyone that you've been cooperative…"

"You could lie," the boy replied, shrugging.

Trying not to take the bait, Shacklebolt replied, "Now you know I can't do that, Ignatius… and I'll admit, you're a passable occlumens - and no doubt your associates trained you since you were out of diapers - which means I nor other Aurors are going to be able to get information the 'easy way' and I think I don't need to tell you what 'hard ways' we can employ. I'm not looking for 'deep dark secrets' but I do need to know what you and your companion…"

"My mother," the boy replied.

"What you and your mother were doing in Diagon Alley, why you were heading towards Gringotts, and what is in the package," Shacklebolt corrected himself and continued as they walked towards St. Mungo's exit.

The boy replied as if he were bored, "We were in Diagon Alley to deliver the package to Gringotts. As for the package, why don't you open it to see what is in it? Or is it that none of you can open it?" Ignatius asked, rhetorically. "Personally I wouldn't try myself as Jakan has a rather perverse sense of humor." The boy then grimaced and looked to the ground realizing he gave away an important piece of information.

"Jakan himself?" Shacklebolt repeated. He had heard the name before but assumed it was more of a shadowy legend, as were most things with these wizards. "So, let's see… You were going to deliver the package, per orders from Jakan to Gringotts. Then your 'Death Eater' friends would send in one of their stooges to pick it up while creating a huge distraction in Diagon Alley." Shacklebolt grabbed the boy's arm and squeezed hard, causing the young man to wince. "Not a good time to be convicted of aiding Death Eaters… and if we find out you are, I will personally drag your scrawny arse to the Death Chamber and kick it through the veil." Seeing the Ignatius balk, he added, "Oh, so you've heard of it… don't want to join Mum quite yet do'ya?"

The boy quickly regained his composure and hissed, "Don't be stupid. If we were aiding them, we'd be far more discreet. Besides, use your head. We were to deliver the package straight to the Head Goblin. Given that the Death Eaters are not exactly sympathetic to non-human rights I don't think that the goblin would be so willing to volunteer to be an intermediary." The boy paused and quickly looked around the hall. "Tell you what… I'll tell all I know – which is a bit more than what I've given."

"More than what we could surmise? More than your name? More than Jakan's basic involvement – which I'm sure someone would have figured out sooner or later. No offense kid, but those protective charms are far beyond what most of us have seen and perhaps to the level that Dumbledore himself would have been intrigued. As decent as your skills are, boy, you're not even close to playing in that league of magic any time soon." Shacklebolt crossed his large, muscular arms. "Ok, entertain me… what's your price?"

"To see my mother one last time – and I don't mean through the veil either," Ignatius replied. "And I will not tell you, but I can talk to someone else… yes…" He then looked down and added, his voice soft and distant – it was apparent he was talking to himself, "Yes… I could… he was to whom the package was intended to be delivered… in the end anyhow." He nodded his head, still not looking up and continued, "If I can get it to him, even in a round-about way, then I suppose then that accomplishes..."

"Who!" Shacklebolt said with clenched teeth, his patience dangerously thin.

"A friend of Dumbledore's… Moony? Former Auror… has a fake leg and a magical eye…" Ignatius said, as he looked around and bit his lip, trying to search his mind for the name.

"Alastor Moody…"Shacklebolt suggested and smirked when the boy nodded tenuously. "Oh, Moody will love to talk to you." Leaning forward he added, "Moody has a special place for Dark Wizards, even Dark little pups like you."

* * *

Shacklebolt opened the door to the morgue and led Ignatius inside. He stopped, in shock, seeing the Weasley clan gathered at a far table along with Harry and Moody. He paused and whispered "Good God" under his breath as he saw it was Hermione. He could feel the boy jerk his arm away, but figuring that the boy couldn't go any where, and certainly could not apparate without his wand and with the magical inhibiting shackles, he let the youngster proceed on his own to his mother's body, which for some reason was uncovered. After getting over the initial shock, Shacklebolt walked silently towards the boy with his eyes intently focused on the group. A moment later Moody looked up and met Shacklebolt's eyes. The two nodded to each other and Shacklebolt motioned his head towards the table - indicating that Moody should join him.

"Bad night," Moody said softly as he reached the slab. He stared at the boy intently, looking him up and down. There was something oddly familiar about him, perhaps it was his face, or his pale eyes, which reminded him of a depthless pool of water, his gait… something, just something, that Moody could not put his finger on.

The boy ran his fingers over his mother's hair and then held her hand. Not looking up, he said softly to Moody, "I need to talk to you." He then looked over to the group of people at the far table. He saw the girl, not older than he, her friends and, he presumed, family, weeping. He stood there, looking at them and looking at the girl, whom had a crushed white flower placed on her chest between her crossed hands. Gently placing his mother's hand back down, he started to walk over to the group as if he forgot about what he was doing and was overcome with a rather absent-minded curiosity. His chains clacked with each step, echoing and amplified off the stone room. He reach the table and looked at each person in turn until his eyes set on a Harry, his gaze transfixed for a moment on Harry's scar. The group was silent, startled by the boy's odd behavior and that he seemed to be almost single-minded, as if he were detached from any emotional bonds and surveying the situation clinically. Molly started to reach out, but Arthur grabbed her hand and they looked on.

Taking his eyes off of Harry, Ignatius picked up the flower and spun it around between his fingers using the small remaining stem. "Asphodel?" he said in a soft, but questioning tone while raising his eyebrows as if he was confused. A second later he shook his head in understanding as if an idea came to his mind. He looked to Harry and asked, "Harry Potter?" to which Harry nodded. Then the strange boy looked at Hermione and then looked up, panning his eyes to the group and lastly to Shacklebolt and Moody who had joined them. "Are you sure she is dead?" he asked.

Ron screeched and lunged at the boy, infuriated at his callousness. But Moody stopped Ron with one hand and then grabbed the hood of Ignatius pulling him back from the table and whipping him around so they were face-to-face. "The package was to go to me, eh?" Seeing the boy just standing there, looking at him blankly he said, "These are Dumbledore's people… what you tell me you can tell them!" Then he added in a measured, menacing voice, "What is in the package and how can I open it?"

"The main protective charms will reverse when you take possession of it. It contains something that Dumbledore had been looking for and we agreed to help him find… unfortunately we succeeded after his death. He left instructions on how to get it through you – arrangements I suppose he made with the Head Goblin…" the boy then added quickly, "It's a silver cup, quite ancient so it appears, with a terrible curse on it to protect the phylactery..."

"A Horcrux?" Moody interrupted, his voice uncharacteristically soft, and he released the boy.

//////////////// END CHAPTER /////////////////////


	4. In the Face of Arms, the Law Grows Mute

**Author's Notes:** As the reader can tell, I am relying heavily on the notion that Lucretia Black and Ignatius Prewett had a daughter. Although it is not of the 'official' Black family tree, let's assume it is one of those parts which were 'eaten away by doxies' as per OOTP. There are no 'hidden' Weasleys and Harry does not suddenly find blood relatives (outside of Petuna Dursley of course). Nor are there long-lost great-great (and so on) grandsons of Dumbledore nor does McGonagall have a son or grandson – or at least one in this story.

Chapter 4: In the Face of Arms, the Law Falls Mute 

Taking advantage of Moody's surprise and his resulting loosened grip, Ron lunged forward, completely oblivious to what was just said. "AAAgggghhhh!!!" he screamed angrily and jumped on Ignatius, his momentum slamming the two onto the floor. Ron knocked Ignatius flat on his back, straddling his adversary. Ron raised his arm, clenched his hand and then made a quick jab. Ignatius pulled his head to the side and Ron's fist struck the stone floor. Ron recoiled from the blow, and held up his wounded hand, trying to shake off the pain. Taking advantage Ron's current distraction, Ignatius quickly raised his chains and put them over Ron's head. He grabbed the loose chains and then quickly crossed his arms, purposely making the chains dig into the Ron's neck. Ron instinctively raised his hands and grabbed the chains, desperately trying to pry them away.

Harry quickly scrambled around the table to help his friend. He rested on his knees, straddling Ignatius' head, accidentally pinning and pulling the boy's long hair in the process. Grabbing the chain, he pulled in the opposite direction, trying to loosen it from Ron's neck. But just before he was successful, Harry hollered in pain. The dark-haired boy was latched onto Harry's thigh, biting it as hard as he could in a desperate attempt to get Harry off of his hair. Seeing that the squabble was neither going to end quickly nor amicably, Arthur, Bill and Shacklebolt tried to free the tangle of young men, while Fred and George stood out of the way and egged Ron and Harry on. Molly was screaming at Ron to behave and Ginny tried to step in, but there was nothing she could really do but watch the brawl in disgust. Then, over the racket, Fleur shouted in delight and began to jump up and down, holding the asphodel in her slender fingers. She held up the flower triumphantly and loudly exclaimed, "Voila! La morte…" The group stopped in mid-motion and looked to her, their eyes wide. Realizing what she said sounded suspiciously like 'Voldemort' she cleared her throat and said, "Ébauche de la mort vivante – Draught of the Living Death!" She held up the flower again and pointed to Hermione, "Draught of the Living Death…"

There was a long silence fueled by both the faint shine hope that Fleur was correct combined with the utter surprise that she figured it out.

/////////////////////////// SECTION /////////////////////

While standing in the middle of the street, a well-dressed older man stared at a shattered home that once belonged to his son. The front of the first floor had been completely blown out and the windows on the second floor were completely shattered. The living room, which he could see directly through the enormous gaping hole, was strewn with debris; but the rest of the house appeared to be untouched. He recognized it to be a precise, surgical strike.

"Sir, you cannot be here," an approaching soldier told him. "If you're family, then here's the information you need," he handed the older gentleman a piece of paper. "I'm sorry, it is very hard," the soldier tried to convey his sympathies, "but as you know, the Prime Minister and Parliament have declared Marshall Law." He paused and then added, "Or perhaps you don't?"

Malcolm Granger turned and nodded. Moving his ebony cane to his left hand, he carefully untied his overcoat belt. Making smooth, but slow movements, he reached into an inside pocket and pulled out a leather identification case. He flipped it open and showed it to the man.

"Oh, MI6," the policeman said upon inspecting the documents.

"SIS," corrected Malcolm. He then motioned his head towards the house. "Who was identified from being at this home and where are they now?"

The officer turned and pointed towards a tent. "We have a small ops office in there. The captain can fill you in," the soldier said, and then added while looking around, "How did you get here…?"

Malcolm simply looked at the soldier and smirked. Lifting his ebony cane, he gently pushed the soldier out of the way, as if he were a simple curtain, and without a second thought about ignoring the soldier's question, he walked over to the tent, holding up his ID the entire way and showing it to any soldier that approached. He opened the tent flap and handed his ID again to another person, this one an officer in her mid-thirties.

"Official business, sir?" the officer asked and looked on as the man put back the leather case into his coat.

Malcolm did not answer. Spotting a laptop on a nearby table, he nodded towards it and asked, "Do you have a casualty list?"

"Yes sir, of all locations – well, at least what we have tallied thus far," the captain replied as she motioned towards the laptop. Offering him a chair, she pulled up a file. "The names are filed by name, location of attack, status – alive or dead, and their current location – hospitals, morgues, what have you." She cleared her throat, leaned in, asking with a whisper, "I heard that the attackers just came out of nowhere and had… get this… 'magic wands' and then they were followed by others who were trying to stop them. Then they just all 'disappeared' just as quickly as they came. I also heard that they found a spy in the Prime Minister's office. They went to arrest him and he did the same thing… just 'POOF' right into thin air!"

"Quite a show, wasn't it?" Malcolm said in an uncommitted tone. He scanned the file and spotted three familiar names. "Dead…" he said under his breath. He closed his eyes and inhaled and exhaled slowly, desperate to not loose his composure.

"I'm sorry, sir," the female officer offered, connecting the names on the screen to the name listed her mysterious visitor's ID. "Would you care for some water?" she asked.

The older man simply lifted his hand, quietly refusing the offer. "There was a young woman… I do not see her listed in here."

The officer looked at the file and then offered, "It was pretty chaotic. We do have a number of eyewitness statements. We would have had more, but those following the men in black," she paused, realizing what she was saying was so odd and unbelievable, "went around and erased many people's memories. No drugs or injections as far as we could tell. The just pointed their 'sticks' at them… low emission microwave is the current theory." She pulled up the statement files for the man to read, summarizing a few key points, "The house that belonged to the Grangers… erm… your family… were the first attacked. A young woman in particular was dragged from the house, flipped up and down the street using what can best be described as some very sophisticated anti-gravity device – perhaps this is the young woman whom you are looking for? According to witnesses, the man in question was young, with mid-length blonde hair…" She paused for a moment and then added, "Yes, here… one of the eyewitnesses had a digital camera. Took a photo." She pulled up another file and waited a second before it loaded. In it was a close-up face of a young man with a pointed face, pale eyes and shimmering blonde hair. "The attackers wore deep black cloaks with pointed hoods and very realistic looking skull masks. Eyewitnesses say they appeared to still have some flesh attached." She said the last part with a sick look on her face.

Malcolm studied the digital photo for a few moments, his face turning a bright red and his lip curling in sheer anger. "Bloody bastard…" He paused for a second, looked at the female officer with a sideway glance, and added, "The masks are quite real. Anything else? And, what about the girl the eyewitnesses talked about?"

The officer let out a brief, horrified gasp and then quickly and professionally regained her composure. She flipped through several more screens and then pulled up another report. "Here, this one says that a young man with glasses and a second man approached a bunch of tarped bodies. Apparently the second group was trying to 'tidy up' a bit and separate the wounded – whom they would erase memories and give medical attention – from the dead. The young man approached the group, found what he was looking for and then disappeared. The eyewitness was at a distance and couldn't see more than that." She then added, "I'm sure at Vauxhall Cross, you will have access a complete archive of all aired, and unaired footage, all confiscated photos, and probably a lot more reports that I have." She flipped back to the photo of the first young man, "I take it you know him…"

"Hmmm… probably not…" Malcolm said, staring into the boy's pale eyes. "Although I had a few 'encounters' with a similar looking man a decades years ago."

"We don't know if he is foreign, but he is definitely Caucasian… an underground terrorist group then?" she asked.

"Underground?" Malcolm replied with a snicker. "Oh yes, underground… very, very underground…"

/////////////////////////// SECTION /////////////////////

Molly propped her elbows on her long dining room table and gently cradled a hot mug of tea. Taking an occasional silent sip, she stared blankly at the table's semi-gloss surface that showed a distorted reflection of the upcoming sunrise. They all had returned about two hours ago, including Fred and George who decided to stay with the family for the day, if not longer. They all were quite upset, yet completely exhausted, but no one could fall sleep on his or her own. Fortunately the twins had some of their 'Nodding Noggins' potion stashed in their old room (which now served as an overflow storage area). The original intention of the potion was to slip it to an unsuspecting victim's drink or food and they'd fall asleep exactly 5 minutes later. Although it wasn't a full sleeping potion, they all hoped that it would get the process started and their natural exhaustion would take over. It was first time she was ever grateful for any of the twin's concoctions. She, however, decided to pass on the potion for the time being, her mind racing so much that she'd rather get the worrying done now than later. Arthur tried to tell her that some sleep would help her sort through everything but he knew that insisting would only backfire and he figured that she'd eventually tire enough and go to sleep on her own.

She got up from the table and walked towards the living room. On the way, she passed by the stairway and looked up the darkened hall. Just about the entire family, including Harry, Fleur and Gabrielle (but excluding, of course, Percy, and Charlie, who was still in Romania) were now fast asleep. 'Safety in numbers' Bill said when he and Fleur moved in about a month ago. She and Arthur welcomed them without question, as they knew that Fleur was the only one employed. Bill, after bitten – but not entirely infected – by the human/werewolf, was 'put on indefinite leave' by Gringotts. He'd joke that it allowed him to focus on the Order and the wedding, but Molly knew it devastated him. She could now better appreciate Remus Lupin; she had no idea how he could be so pleasant and friendly given the continual adversity and outright discrimination he faced throughout his life.

Walking a few more steps, she saw a light blue glow in the living room. Approaching, she saw Ignatius splayed on the threadbare couch in a deep sleep. The thick, patched comforter she had given him had fallen to the floor, but his boney hand held a tenuous grip on a ragged corner. His battered black boots, which were apparently repaired one too many times, lay casually on the floor and his feet dangled over the arm of the couch, as he was too tall to fit on it. His wand hand sported a glowing blue inhibiting band, which was substituted for the shackles and chains he wore at St. Mungos and the Ministry. The band prevented him from doing any sort of magic; he couldn't even floo without another wizard at his side. The band really didn't matter much as the Ministry confiscated his wand pending their investigation, but there was no knowing what incantations the young wizard knew. He was allowed to stay with them only because of Arthur's exceptional standing in the ministry and Molly's reputation – the Aurors knew that she'd pester and peck them cleaner than the werewolf's bones in Diagon Alley if they didn't acquiesce.

The boy moaned briefly and touched his forehead, quickly going back to sleep. She watched him, noting how much he resembled his grandmother and the Black side of his family, which she found odd since Desdemona resembled the Prewett side considerably.

"You should sleep," Arthur said as he approached from the darkened stairway. Molly jumped and put a hand over her mouth, careful to not make a sound and awaken anyone in the house.

"You scared the…" Molly began and then she noticed the photo album her husband carried under his arm. Turning her head, she read the inscription, 'Order of the Phoenix, 1979 – 1980', and then sighed. "What's this all about?" she asked.

"Just reminiscing," Arthur said unconvincingly. He looked over to the boy and then motioned to Molly to join him in the other room.

"Well, did you find what you were 'reminiscing' about?" Molly asked as they sat down. Arthur opened the book and taking advantage of the early morning light, flipped through the photos one last time, stopping briefly and examining a few pages intently, occasionally flipping back and forth between them. Molly grabbed the book and pulled it away from her husband. "Arthur Septimus Weasley, what in Merlin's name is going through your mind!?"

"Odd," Arthur said to himself. Shaking his head as he took gently pulled the book back to take a last look at the photos, he turned to his wife and replied absentmindedly, "Oh, nothing… just had a thought and it was nothing. Hmmm… there are a few photos of Harry's parents. Never occurred to me that we had them. I'm sure he'd like to see them when he wakes up."

Molly snorted and looked at her husband suspiciously. For the time being she would let him alone as there were more pressing issues.

///////////////////////// SECTION ///////////////////////

Malcolm Granger entered the remains of the house, motioning a soldier to join him inside. "I need to go upstairs to check something," he told the soldier. As he headed towards the stairs, he noticed something flickering in the morning breeze. Seeing the photo, he stopped to pick it up. He saw a few more and picked those up too, inspecting each one. He paused and his face turned an ashen grey as his heart began to race. Desperately he began to tear apart the debris, looking for any more photos and placing all he found into his coat pocket.

"May I help you sir?" the soldier asked as he was bewildered by the agent's odd behavior.

"No… no…" Malcolm said softly and waved the soldier back. Satisfied that he had collected all of the available photos, he then walked to the back of the house to the stairs.

"Sir!" the soldier yelled, "We aren't certain if there is structural damage…"

"I'll be fine," Malcolm shouted back, waving his hand in the air. He climbed the stairs and then found his granddaughter's room. He quietly turned the knob and entered. The room appeared to be untouched, which he assumed it would be as it was towards the back of the house and away from the attack. Seeing a large trunk at the foot of her bed, he closed the door behind him, locked it and rushed over to the trunk and opened it. It contained various books and clothing, which he inspected thoroughly. He continued to dig in the trunk, but could not find what he was looking for. He replaced all of the books and pulled out a lock from his pocket and secured the trunk. Scrambling about the room, occasionally peeking up to the door to make sure he wasn't being watched, he looked under the bed, in various drawers, and then finally in the closet. Seeing a small, rather inconspicuous set of drawers towards the back left hand side of the closet he quickly opened them, one after another and slammed each one in place after he was done searching it. Finally, the last drawer he came upon seemed to have a false bottom. Lifting up the panel, his eyes lit up as he spotted the object. He inhaled softly and then turned to make sure that he was still alone. Seeing that he was, he picked up Hermione's wand and put it into a pocket in the inside of his overcoat.

Malcolm returned to the stairs and walked casually down them, showing enough restraint to make sure the soldier did not get suspicious. He approached the soldier and handed out his card. "There is a trunk upstairs that contains some family heirlooms. Can I count on you to make sure they are delivered to my office? Of course, I've talked to the captain…"

"Yes, sir," the soldier replied taking the card. "Normally we can't do the personal favors, even with people of your standing, but given what happened here, we'll do our best to see what we can do." The soldier then reached into his pocket, "Found this while you were upstairs. Must be very old as it's discolored."

Malcolm took the photo and looked at the young men, his brow furrowed with deep lines. Turning it over, he read the inscription and then mouthed something that the soldier did not hear. "Thank you, that is all," he said and waved the soldier off. Flipping it back to the picture he stared at the four men, with his focus on the blonde-haired man in particular. He dropped the photo to the ground, raised his cane and slammed it down, viciously spearing the blonde man's head. "Silent enim leges inter arma" he said softly and lifted his cane, removed the photo and placed it in his pocket with the others.

///////////////////////// SECTION ///////////////////////

Harry woke to the wonderful smell of sausage, pancakes and coffee. Squinting his eyes and slapping his hands around to find his glasses (he was so tired the night before that he just placed his glasses somewhere and then fell asleep), he then got out of bed and quickly changed. He then went over to Ron's bed, bent over, and shook his friend hard, trying to wake him.

"Too early," Ron moaned and turned away from Harry and pulled the covers over his head. Then he bolted out of bed, nearly knocking Harry over in the process, "Hermione!" he yelled and then scrambled down the stairs not even bothering with a house robe.

Reaching the bottom of the stairway, Ron turned the corner and dashed into the kitchen, nearly crashing into the table. "What-about-Hermione-did-you-hear-where's-the-owls-I-need-to-go…" he said in a single breath. Everyone in the kitchen stopped what they were doing and looked at Ron. Harry walked up behind his friend and patted him on the shoulder.

"Ron, I'd think that the owls and any news would be delayed quite a bit today given that there was… err… so much," Harry began. He gently guided Ron to the kitchen table, "It's past one o'clock and I want to hear just as much as you, but…" and before Harry could finish, two owls burst through the nearby open window and dropped their bundles on a cleared spot on the table before perching on the back of two nearby chairs. "See," Harry said hopefully, "just in time."

The Weasley's new owl (one that Fred and George recently purchased for their parents to replace the aged Errol) delivered the first bundle. It contained both a standard Daily Prophet as well as an Extra Edition, a special issue of the Quibbler, a Muggle newspaper (which Harry recognized from the partially uncovered logo as the Sun), an envelope addressed to Arthur, and a sealed parchment from St. Mungo's. The second owl, which was a standard light grey postal owl, delivered was a rather large, standard brown parcel with an attached black envelope. Ron pounced on the St. Mungo's letter, knocking everything else in his path out of his way or onto the floor. Molly and Arthur did not bother to admonish him, and waited anxiously to hear the news.

Ron's fingers fumbled as he tried to open it and he ended up ripping the paper instead. Cursing under his breath, he tried again which only resulted in him accidentally dropping it onto the floor.

"Here, let me do this," Bill said calmly as he sat his youngest brother down and bent over to pick up mangled correspondence. Carefully opening it, he smoothed it out and read it, "We have verified that Miss Granger is under the influence of the Draught of the Living Death. However, we will not reverse this potion until we can heal her more life-threatening wounds. We do expect a good prognosis, however her recovery will take some time. If you can provide us with the names of her surviving relatives, if any, we shall contact them via the appropriate Ministry – Muggle Relations Bureau."

Harry bit his lip, "I neglected to mention," he began, "that I saw her father's body. It was so chaotic last night… I can only assume that her mother…" He stopped abruptly and jerked somewhat when he heard a loud noise of metal crashing to the floor.

"Oh, no…!" Molly exclaimed, dropping a heavy metal skillet on the floor as she raised her hands to her mouth. The precisely cut potatoes and onions that were in the skillet spilled all over the floor. "Oh, sorry, dear…" she said to Ignatius not looking at him but staring at Harry, shocked by the news. Patting the strange boy on the shoulder she added, "You were trying to be so helpful and you did a wonderful job…"

"You gave him a bloody knife?" Ron sputtered, pointing at Ignatius who had reacted to neither the dropping pan nor Ron's comment and was instead immersed in throwing bits of bacon and sausage to the owls. "Mum, are you nutters?" See what he did to me?" Ron complained, pointing at the red marks on his throat.

"Now Ron, you attacked him first," Arthur corrected as he picked up the parcel. "It's for you, Ignatius," he said and handed the box to the boy who now had perked up at the news he had a package.

Ignatius took the box and read the attached letter. Sucking the back of his teeth and frowning a bit, he shrugged his shoulders. He then handed the letter to Arthur and pointed to the other letter that was addressed to Arthur. Grabbing the knife he was using earlier, he cut the strings on the box and opened it. He pulled out a few robes, socks, underwear and other personal items and laid them on the table.

"Do you mind getting your skivvies off the table?" Ron asked sarcastically, "We do eat here…"

The boy continued taking items out of the package, with such single-mindedness so intent that he was completely oblivious to Ron, the comment, or the others in the room. He pulled out a couple of silver knives, his bronze medallion, a long braided rope that had several glittering gemstone and finally a dark black wand with a intricately carved light-colored wood handle, all of which he organized in a line neatly on the table. He then examined his three robes, three in all, two a medium grey and the last a faded black. Deciding on one of the grey robes, he stood and then took off his current blue robe.

"You can change in one of the boy's rooms," Molly said nervously to the young man, who was standing in front of all of them in only his underwear. "Fleur, perhaps you and Gabrielle could get a few sprigs of rosemary in the garden?" Fleur nodded, her face an ashen grey and her hand covering Gabrielle's eyes. The two of them headed for the door, Fleur leading her sister and talking quickly in French under her breath; a translation was unnecessary.

"Don't forget about your underwear," George added.

"Yes, a nice fresh pair gets me going each morning," Fred said, followed by an 'OW' as Ginny slammed her foot on his.

Throwing each of the owls another piece of bacon, Ignatius slipped on the chosen grey robe and then reached under it, taking off his underwear using his robe as a cover. He then took a fresh pair and slipped them on and then folded the dirty pair and placed them in the box. He then retrieved a number of books smiling a bit as he flipped through one in particular. He then held his banded hand up and towards Arthur, nodding again to the envelope from the Ministry. "The letter will explain a number of things. It also has a key to this… contraption," he said bitterly. Grabbing his braided leather belt he tied it around his waist and then offered his wand hand again to Arthur who was reading the note and then compared it to the other.

"I suppose," Arthur said as he unlocked the band from Ignatius' wrist and took it off of him. He held up the notes and pointed to them. "Perfect houseguest. That includes changing in private, not ignoring people and…" he pointed to Ron, "… not starting fights." He then looked at Ron who had a self-satisfied smirk. "And if you start one, Ron, I'll let him finish it."

"Ignatius, could you kindly take off your belt and hand it to me?" Bill asked quietly, but in a slow steady voice that implied he expected full cooperation.

The boy untied his belt and handed it to Bill. Bill quickly conjured a black leather-like bag and then popped out the various gems putting them into a bag. "Your associates must have used some heavy persuasion to let this out of Ministry custody. They're not even legal here. I'll have Dad put them in our vault at Gringotts…" Bill stopped and frowned as Ignatius turned away and issued a series of charms to tidy up the spill Molly had made. Bill slammed his hand on the table and growled, "Don't you dare ignore me!"

But by this time, Ignatius had opened the window and was hanging out halfway, poking his wand into the bushes. Pulling himself back, he asked Molly, "You don't keep the gnomes as pets do you?"

"Nnnn…ooo, no," Molly said, quite confused, but happy that the potatoes were off the floor, cleaned, and now cooking on the stove. She motioned to Bill, who was absolutely furious, for him to sit down, as it was more than apparent to her that Ignatius wasn't quite 'right'. "Are you feeling all right, dear?" she asked.

"Huh… oh… yes, I suppose," Ignatius said shrugging. "Mind if I read for awhile?"

"Well, there's no harm in that," Arthur said with a smile. "Now a few of us could benefit with a bit more emphasis on their studies…" He looked to Fred, George, and Ron in particular.

Ignatius went back to the window and leaned out so far that his feet were off the floor. After a few blasts from his wand, he managed to capture a gnome from the bushes and levitated it few feet over the table. Placing his wand behind his ear, he reached into the parcel again (which was apparently wizard-sized given the number of articles he had already pulled out of it) and took out a strange seaweed covered book titled _Lethal Creatures and Flora of the Depths_ and placed it directly underneath the gnome, who was now screeching and clawing at the air in a vain attempt to escape. He then held his wand properly and tapped the book three times. The book gurgled ominously and then issued a sickly wet sound. Suddenly, tentacles sprung out from the book, as did the face of some hideous underwater creature with a pulsing head, a single red cat-slit eye, and a round sucker mouth encircled with several rows of razor sharp teeth. One of the tentacles shot out and grabbed a few pancakes, stuffing them greedily into its mouth and almost as instantly spit them back out, showering everyone at the table with a mix of pancake and ooze, while it made a disgusted sound that suspiciously resembled the word 'Yuck'.

Ignatius slapped back another wandering tentacle with his wand and then snapped his finger, breaking the levitation spell and watched as the screaming gnome plunged into the book-creature's mouth. The book chewed hungrily, swallowed its breakfast and then issued a deep, satisfied belch. Then, with a few slimy movements the tentacles and the head absorbed back into the book and the book creaked open, ready to be read.

But before the strange dark boy could read it, Arthur and Bill grabbed him under each arm and dragged him outside.

///////////////////////////// END CHAPTER ///////////////////////


	5. A Dubious Pact

**Author's Notes:** Thank you for reading and comments are appreciated. Sorry for the long time period between updates. Life happens! J

Chapter 5: A Dubious Pact 

Dementors encircled the top of the wizard-made cavern, covering the moist, rocky surfaces with stunningly beautiful crystals of ice. A solid floor clear ice covered most of a small underground lake, exposing the Inferi's grotesque ballet in its depts . Three wizards, one leading the two, walked briskly in lock step, their boots crunching into the icy surface. The first wizard clutched a rolled up newspaper in his left hand. Wands drawn, they uneasily eyed up the Dementors as they trekked underneath the creatures and headed towards a smaller opening that lead to another part of the cave.

"The losses were minor, and quite acceptable. Fenir will scream for vengeance for the loss of one of his… pups," Lucius snorted at the last. "But Fenir knows that there are risks for the greater good. I assume, Severus that everything else is in motion? That he is more than determined than before to carry out…?"

"Vengeance is always the best motivator. So is glory. Both things that Potter now wants more than ever," the first wizard said in a very cold, soft voice. He suddenly turned in step, his dark cloak making a sinister snap in the cold air and forced the wizards behind him to step back. Pulling back his hood, he glared at Malfoy, "Are you getting cold feet?"

"Of course not… I am just assessing…"

"This is not the place to discuss this!" Snape hissed softly, purposely keeping his voice low. He looked around and added quickly and even more quietly, "I know Potter, as I knew his father… he is reckless and yet predictable. He will be very valuable to us, but for now we must keep quiet and simply let events unfold. But now we must deal with a more pressing issue." He held up a Muggle newspaper that had a profile photo of the younger Malfoy's face. "Apparently they captured your good side, Draco," Snape noted sarcastically. "We need to bring this to the Dark Lord's attention now, while he is still in a good mood. Given the chaos your little expedition caused the Muggles, he may look favorably upon it."

"If not?" Draco asked tenuously, glancing to his father for some support.

"If not, then pray that you will be crucio'ed to the point that you're passing around Droobles' gum packets to everyone you see versus being initiated into the fold of our pond-dwelling friends," Snape said quickly, not particularly pleased in knowing that those two situations were among the possibilities. "Regardless, bringing this to his attention now, before someone else does – or worse he discovers it for himself – will be far better."

Lucius nodded and motioned for them to continue their walk, his expression betraying a rare concern for his son. They resumed their pace and approached the antechamber, which was well lit with hundreds of floating candles. An underground stream cut through the cavern and terminated at near the room's entrance; presumably flowing under the rock and feeding the Inferi infested pond. At the back of the chamber the Dark Lord sat on an ice-streaked black granite throne and was talking to a small group of kneeling Death Eaters. Knowing not to approach until called, the trio stopped in the entryway, careful to be completely out of earshot. The Death Eaters rose and walked towards the exit, a couple murmuring between them.

"Approach," the Dark Lord said lazily. He pursed a somewhat sincere smile as they walked towards him, nodding towards Snape and Draco, but being more reserved in his icy affections towards Lucius.

Snape opened and held up the paper showing Draco's face. "There was a bit of a… miscalculation. One of our own had his photograph taken by a Muggle."

Voldemort snatched up the newspaper and looked at the front cover. He then opened it and read through a few pages, registering an expression of great interest on his face. "Excellent!" the Dark Lord exclaimed as he re-folded the paper and handed it back to Snape. "Not as riveting and the live news reports showing the Dark Mark and broadcasting a fight against my Death Eaters and Aurors, but a nice addition nonetheless." He then paused and looked at Draco, "Malfoy, it was you who lead the attack on the Muggle neighborhood, yes?"

"Yes, my Lord," Draco said, not sure if he should be terrified or relieved.

"Not a overly valuable strategic location, but it did make a suitable impact on the Muggle population and was a key component is a variety of attacks that threw a variety of Muggle governments into panic. Very worthwhile. I assume this was part of a personal vendetta?"

"A filthy mudblood who is… well, was… a close friend of Potter lived in the neighborhood. The little bloody know-it-all didn't see it coming!" Draco replied, with relish in his voice.

"Ah, now you have a killer instinct?" Voldemort's voice suddenly turned cold. "Pity you did not have that last month!"

"I know I failed you," Draco said softly, ignoring Snape's subtle hisses to shut up. "But I was able to arrange for many Death Eaters to infiltrate Hogwarts and block the entrance to the tower so that we would not be interrupted."

"So Snape, who should not have had any idea of your task, could finish your job…" Voldemort interrupted. "I have been thinking about this for the past few weeks… once the euphoria of Dumbledore's death wore off."

Voldemort rose from his throne and approached the three kneeling wizards. He slowly walked a circle around them, as if he were a hungry predator. He stopped behind Lucius and clasped him on the shoulder. "You failed me in the Department of Mysteries and hid in Azkaban for fear of my wrath. You did, however, escape on queue and lead the attack on Diagon Alley which was a marginal success - if you do not count that pile of bones and a bucket full of yellow goo…"

"We did not expect any real resistance, my Lord," Lucius began to explain. "There was a Gringotts cursebreaker and the other two. The rest were plain wizards and the Weasleys… they could lose a few and probably not realize it."

"Interesting sources I have regarding those two travelers," Voldemort said silkily, "I would have a few questions to ask Crouch… if he could speak."

Voldemort proceeded to Snape. "How did you know?" he asked narrowing his red snake-like eyes.

Snape knew not to ask for clarification. "My Lord, it was apparent that my position at Hogwarts could only last so long. When Dumbledore had me summoned that night, I knew his time was limited. It was a tremendous opportunity…"

"To fulfill an Unbreakable Vow…" Voldemort added. Snape was silent. "You were correct regarding your stay at Hogwarts; it was a matter of time before I asked you to finish the real reason you were put there. But, you are smart enough to have deduced this without tutoring. But I never told you about young Malfoy's task."

"I offered to protect him and help him anyway I could," Snape said. "I inferred the nature of the task and knew it was critical to your master plan. If Malfoy failed, then it was his risk, but I knew Dumbledore had to die."

"But you kept him alive?"

"Only temporary, My Lord. You know the curse even better than I. The potions could only delay the spread for only so long. It bought me time to learn more and pass information to you. Dumbledore was already dead; he just needed a little push." Snape answered.

"Well, this is all very true," Voldemort said thoughtfully, "however, despite things working out, I will not tolerate weakness. Had you not been absolutely loyal, which I'm afraid I had been skeptical for some time, this breach would have been disastrous. I need loyalty to me, not to others. Narcissa realizes this."

"I had no wish to usurp your authority and perhaps I mislead Narcissa into thinking that you had told me the plan versus my deducing the plan," Snape added. "Yes, she was interested in protecting her son, but she knew the completion of the task was of the utmost importance."

Voldemort leaned forward and hissed softly in Snape's ear, "I don't particularly share your optimism of Narcissa' intentions or that she cared how you knew… or didn't know." Voldemort stepped away from the trio. "Rise," he commanded.

The three wizards got off their knees and stood silently by their Master. Voldemort then slashed his hand through the air, creating a streak of violet lightning and a deafening roar. Queued by the sound, three hooded and robed figures entered the room. The first was apparently a large, burly wizard who roughly clutched the arm of a petite witch. The last appeared to be a witch as well, and although also slender, taller than the other. The three approached Voldemort, who waved his hand indicating that they should not kneel. With a quick flip of his finger, their hoods pulled back, revealing their faces.

"My Lord," Bellatrix greeted Voldemort with a respectful nod of her head. Clearing her throat, she added, "Please, my Lord, understand that her main intentions were to serve you. She just…" Bellatrix glanced around to find the correct words, "had concern with her son's ability to fulfill your important task."

Voldemort stared at the blonde witch, who was now visibly shaken. "Well, I do suppose that she won't be a risk going forward," he said cryptically. He motioned for the large wizard, who still held Narcissa's arm, to release her and leave. Once the wizard had left, Voldemort approached Narcissa.

"You were told not to say anything outside of those whom I told," Voldemort said icily.

"Severus is very trusted by you, My Lord," Narcissa began, her voice shaky. "I thought he knew… he told me he knew…" Narcissa fell to her knees.

Voldemort turned his back on her and walked away. Bellatrix looked towards the ceiling and instantly turned a sickly grey.

"My Lord!" Bellatrix tried to say calmly but her voice betrayed her urgency.

"I suggest the four of you step away… now!" Voldemort said as he climbed the few steps leading to his throne. Snape and the two Malfoys retreated, taking half dozen steps back, unsure what was happening.

Bellatrix approached the throne and got on her knees, "Please My Lord, it was a mistake… I will make sure she won't repeat it… you did get what you needed… right My Lord?"

"I will make sure she does not repeat it!" Voldemort said angrily. "And unless you stop groveling, you will join her, Bella!"

Bellatrix whimpered and slunk over to the wizards, who were now quite aware of the small group of Dementors who circled overhead. Narcissa's head was tilted back and she stared at the ceiling, her mouth open, but too terrified to scream as a Dementor descended upon her. Her face contorted as the creature issued his kiss, and a stream of soft blue light left her body. When it was finished, it left the witch as he found her, kneeling on the hard icy surface of the cave; but this time completely unaware of self and surroundings.

Voldemort looked to the four and then over to the soulless shell. Lifting his wand, he flicked it a few time. The thing that was once Narcissa rose to her feet. Its eyes were now opaque and the once beautiful face was limp, appearing as if it had slightly melted. The body took a few steps back and fell into the nearby stream, sinking slowly until only the long blonde hair could be seen writhing in the icy cold depths.

The Dark Lord sat silent for a few seconds. "Lucius, you had failed me and hid in prison rather than face me. Draco, although you did find a way for my Death Eaters to enter Hogwarts, you hesitated in killing Dumbledore and Snape had to do it in your stead. Both of you, Lucius and Draco, did provide some sufficient services, but there were some significant failures as well. Bella, you failed to prevent Narcissa from approaching Snape when you were perfectly capable of doing so by force. Snape, you entered in an Unbreakable Vow with her without fully knowing what you were entering. Very uncharacteristic… and leading me to believe that soon you and Lucius would be fighting like male Hippogriffs during mating season. And, most important, Narcissa herself went against direct orders and discussed a very important plan to someone who was not involved. All of you, and not least of all her, contributed to her fate – and being a merciful Lord, I did not kill her outright." He paused again and looked over the four Death Eaters. "I trust that you understand and now can focus without her as a distraction."

Snape turned to the Dark Lord, "Of course, My Lord, I assure you we are more focused than ever."

////////////////////////////// SECTION ////////////////////////////////

"But he said that it was only between us… he and I… and that I should only confide in the two of you!" Harry growled as he slammed a small rock into the pond outside the Weasley home. The large splash didn't come anywhere near in satisfying Harry's anger. "I don't know who these people are… they could be co-conspirators with Voldemort!"

"I doubt that," Ron interrupted, "Dumbledore was very careful on choosing his alli…" He trailed off as Harry threw him a dirty look.

Harry drew in a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "Perhaps I'm overreacting. I don't know the full story. Maybe they knew of Voldemort's plan and volunteered…" He stopped and shook his head as Ron's expression conveyed serious skepticism. "Anyhow, I don't know the full story."

"Well, you can ask the git what he knows," Ron said and pointed to a tree about fifty feet away, under which Ignatius sat. The boy was intently peeling an orange with a silver dagger, careful to keep the rind in a single thin spiral. He added sarcastically, "As long as he doesn't get distracted by a cloud or a butterfly. Besides, he's a few feet outside of the wards and perhaps we should tell him."

Ron and Harry walked up the small incline towards the tree. When they reached the end of the wards that protected the Weasly house, Harry shouted, "Hey! You're outside the wards! Come over here!" Ignatius looked up at Ron and Harry and pointed to his chest. "Yeah, you," Harry said, exasperated. Waving his hand toward him, he added, "Mr. Weasley will have you thrown out for sure if you even **think** of stepping out of line."

Harry knew that wasn't particularly true given what Ignatius had done the previous night. However, none were eager to openly accept the strange young wizard's methods.

"The extended wards won't last all day either," Ron said as he looked at his watch. Arthur and Bill had extended the wards that protected the house so that the family could enjoy some fresh air and to prepare for the upcoming outdoor wedding. Until then, they kept them only for a relatively small window of time until they were fully strengthened and tested.

Ignatius rose from his spot under the tree and approached. "Mr. Weasley didn't strike me as being a Legilimens…"

Harry and Ron looked at him blankly. "Erm… that was just an expression," Harry explained. "Um… I wanted to ask you something."

"Sure," Ignatius said and continued to walk and peel his orange.

"What do you know about Dumbledore's request? I mean, what do you know of the horcruxes? Is your group supposed to look for more?" Harry huffed angrily.

"There's more than one?" Ignatius stopped in mid-step and turned to Harry, his eyes wide.

"Great job, Harry," Ron whispered to his friend.

"Well, it would make sense if there were more than one because then he'd… you-know-who… I mean…" Ignatius swallowed hard; his face showed a tinge of sweat and was a bit more grey than normal. Taking a deep breath, he choked out as if at one time he'd been forced to practice saying the name, "… Voldemort." He twitched a little and added, "He'd be a proper Lich and would have to keep it like a real phylactery… you know… close by and not buried in a pauper's grave. Erm… Liches completely remove their soul from their body, that's why the body will decay in time, but they need the soul nearby in order to project their essence into the vessel – I mean, body." Ignatius then scratched his chin thoughtfully and started to walk towards a bunch of holly bushes. "I've never heard of multiple horcruxes – never attempted before as far as I know. Not a bad idea though, because no one would suspect it to be hidden in a place like that and if you have more than one, then it would be hard to be destroyed. And, I'd assume that if you get over one or two soul splits, a Dementor would have to be pretty close by to sniff it out… that is if you can get one of those bloody things to cooperate and not turn on you."

"Excuse me?" Ron said, his voice betraying his confusion and horror, "Did you say Dementor?"

"Well, what else are they good for?" Ignatius replied with a quizzical expression on his face, as if he were asked if he breathed air. He added, rather animatedly, "Well… OK there is one other use for them, but it's pretty gruesome. It's hard enough to read about and I'd never want to see it first-hand. Anyhow, they were originally bred as phylactery finders. But their development, from what I understand, went wrong and they're not exactly the most controllable of the wraiths - pretty shirty, actually. But what's good about them – if you can handle one – is that they're actually rather dense and if they sniff out a phylactery, then they'll go after it and ignore any curse that might be on it. Any Dark Wizard who could make phylactery certainly wouldn't produce it without a curse on it."

"Yeah, what would be the fun in that?" Ron added rhetorically, silently hoping that Ignatius wouldn't be pulled off topic and actually answer.

"Well Dementors solve the problem of deactivating the curse. When I was eleven I saw one try to eat a phylactery that was cursed with a substantial fire spell. The thing burst into flames and must have been flying around screaming for a good thirty seconds before it just turned into ashes. It was brilliant - no pun intended of course. I still have a jar of its remains in my room. I don't know what to do with it yet; might figure out some potion. Heard too that the remains could be used to control other Dementors – don't know how exactly that works, but sounds like a good project when I get home. But anyhow, the bloody things deserve to be used like that. It would be along time until I'd feel comfortable using a Dementor, but you have to admit the added bonus on seeing one catch fire and explode does outweigh the safety of a mundane Secrecy Sensor."

Harry and Ron looked at each other, dumbfounded. At least there was one thing they and the odd boy had in common: their mutual hatred of Dementors.

"Oh, and back to your original question," Ignatius said, refocusing, "I don't know for sure. But knowing what I do now, it makes more sense. If he were… erm… if he were ripped from his body when he tried to kill you and then – if you will – was 'resurrected' then he had to have an anchor. If he could do one, then maybe he'd try more. That would also imply that he probably kept a portion of his soul in himself. When it was ripped out, then he had another basis to build a body around." Ignatious smiled triumphantly, as if he had just solved a puzzle that had been dancing around in his head. He added, "Dumbledore had been to our libraries number of times the year prior to his death. I never met him personally, however – I was quite busy with work whenever he came by. However, I did overhear some acolytes talking about he and Jakan – Jakan's the head of our order. Apparently they got into in some sort of argument; well at least Jakan was yelling at Dumbledore and Dumbledore seemed to be amused. Anyhow, Dumbledore said something to the effect that if Jakan was so sure about what he 'knew' then he should help and anything that would be 'of interest' should be delivered to the Head Goblin at Gringotts. I'm under the impression that Dumbledore didn't reveal anything directly, which tee'd of Jakan considerably. I assumed that the Goblin would put it in a vault or deliver it directly to Dumbledore and after he died, whoever was the head of your 'Order of the Phoenix'. Jakan assumed it was Moody – at least that's what he told my mother."

Ignatius stopped abruptly and looked down to his feet. Harry and Ron heard a soft sniffle and then the boy raised his head, turned, and continued to walk straight ahead towards the holly bushes.

"Look," Harry offered while quickening his steps to catch up to him. "We've had a rough time and we shouldn't forget what you did for Gabrielle and what happened to your Mum. You're just kind of different than what we're used to and, well, you just remind us of someone…" Harry turned to Ron and said, "Doesn't he Ron?" Turning back, he said, "I know… Sirius. You look a bit like Sirius. But that makes sense as he's your cousin, right?"

Ignatius just shrugged his shoulders, as he really did not know.

"Hullo…!" a friendly voice from behind them called out. Mr. Lovegood and Luna had just disapparated outside the wards using a side-by-side apparation and were waving at them. "Ron, could you get your father or Bill out here to help us out? Oh, there you are Arthur…"

Arthur approached the father and daughter and once satisfied who they were who they said they were, let them through. Luna immediately bounded toward Harry, Ron and Ignatius while her father stayed and talked with Arthur.

When she reached Ron and Harry, she gave them each hugs. "We heard about Hermione… is she?" Luna asked, her eyes much wider than normal and looking like they'd really pop right out her head.

"She's badly hurt, but is expected to make a full recovery. We can't visit her until she's awake, which may be several days," Ron replied. "The Ministry and my parents are trying to locate her grandfather. Her parents and her grandmother were killed."

Luna gasped, putting her hand over her mouth. "It will be hard for her at first but in time she'll accept it. I did, and I was much younger." Luna shook her head in pity. She then looked over to the unfamiliar boy who was now kneeling by the hollies, and carefully tearing apart small pieces of orange.

"He's the one who was in Diagon Alley, wasn't he?" Seeing Harry and Ron nod, she walked over.

"Oh, can I have this?" she asked pointing towards the single-piece spiral orange peel. "Oh, yes… I forgot. I'm Luna Lovegood," she added. It was apparent to Ron and Harry that she must have practiced her greeting.

Ignatius turned to her, his eyes intent on her face for a few moments, as if he was quickly summing her up. Then he offered a small smile. He nodded yes to her request and smiled more broadly as she pulled her hair into a lopsided ponytail and then added the orange peel around the clasp, with the ends of the peel dangling into her hair.

"My name is Ignatius. Ignatius… erm… Prowitt?" He looked to Ron to confirm.

"Prewett."

"Ignatius Prewett…" he reiterated. "I just found out my surname last night. Well, it's used to be my mother's from what I was told. Still getting used to it. I guess I'm Mrs. Weasley's cousin."

"Oh. I sometimes forget my last name too. Especially when I'm washing my hair. You have to watch out for shampoo, the Detergent Coalition has put in special additives that are meant to brainwash us into buying more."

Ignatius conjured up a few lidded clear jars. "Essence of lavender infused with… rosemary… no… may apple… no… well something like that… added to the shampoo will counteract the effects. When I was young I met a wizard who was working on his own version of the Scarpin Revelaspell just to find out what was going on with shampoo, and Byson's Brand Butterbeer too. I think he wanted to blackmail them."

Luna shook her head and tutted under her breath. "That's a shame because people have a right to know the truth. Do you mind if we mention the Butterbeer in our next edition? So, what are you doing?"

"Huh?"

"The jars…"

"Next edition?"

"Oh, the Quibbler. My father is the editor."

"I see, well OK, I guess. I'm catching Holly Nargles. They like orange pieces."

"Nargles? I thought they were only in mistletoe?"

"Well they're not really true nargles, the name is a misnomer. They're a bit bigger, have green pointed wings and aren't nearly as poisonous. They are somewhat like doxies in many ways, except the wings can be used to make a standard poison antidote. Well, not really an antidote, but it drastically slows down the rate of the poison. Buys you some time until you can get an actual antidote. Tastes better than shoving a beazor down your throat." He placed orange pieces in four jars. "Want to help?" he asked.

"Ok, what do I do?"

Ignatius reached into his robe and pulled out a document. He unrolled it and frowned as the paper unraveled to the ground. He quickly scanned the written list (which was a list of rules and 'do nots' that Arthur and Bill had both contributed to), read it a second time, re-rolled it and placed it back into his robe. He sat back on his haunches, took a deep breath and furrowed his brow.

"The hard way then. Help me line up these jars near the bushes. I'll levitate the lids horizontally and put a trapping charm on them. We get behind the bushes and yell. That should flush them out. They will see the oranges and charge into the jars. Oranges are their favorite comfort food."

"I like shepherd's pie when it's raining," Luna added thoughtfully.

"Well, if you see a huge jar with a plate of shepherd's pie in it, I'd be wary."

"Good point."

Luna and Ignatius placed the jars close to the hollies. When they were done, they went around to the other side of the bushes. Harry and Ron, who had long since conjured up chairs, sat nearby and looked on; they both had expressions that were a mix of incredulousness and amusement.

The witch and the wizard rushed towards the bushes, shaking them hard. Ignatius was doing a typical yell, while Luna's holler sounded more like a combination of an owl's hoot and a whooping sound. Immediately, from underneath the hollies, a brood of strange insects appeared, running from the bushes as fast as they could and right into the orange laced jars. The insects were immediately attracted to oranges and didn't even notice the lids clicking shut. The two hurried around the bushes, eager to see how many they trapped. Before Ignatius could check the first trap, Luna cried out. One of the nargles, a rather large one in fact, had flown up to her hair, apparently attracted to the orange peel. As she tried to wave the thing off, she took a couple of steps backwards and tripped over an uneven patch of grass, landing flat on her back. Ignatius dove to the ground and landed just above her, resting his body weight on his left forearm. Quickly he reached into her hair and pulled out the nargle between the thumb and index finger of his right hand. He held it above them, almost like a trophy.

"Like I said, their bite is not overly poisonous, but your head would swell."

"Now I can see why they call them nargles… although they're not. What are the white berry looking things on it?"

"Erm… it means it's male," Ignatius replied. They both looked at each other and giggled until Ignatius felt a strong kick to his boots.

"Don't you think you should put that thing in a jar before I make **your** head swell?" Harry asked with a slight scowl on his face. He then realized that had unconsciously pulled his foot back, obviously poised to kick the boy again as a way to defend his friend from what was probably an unintended, and certainly odd and awkward, romantic advance.

Ignatius got up, and with his free hand, offered it to Luna, helping her up. "Let's put this in the jar," he whispered to Luna. He held her hand for the couple of steps it took to reach the jars, while he looked at Harry defiantly.

"Well, Master Ignatius, it appears that you are doing well," a voice behind them said. Harry, Ron, Luna and Ignatius immediately turned around and drew their wands. A few feet from them, just outside the wards, stood three middle-aged wizards in dark-grey robes; all of who seemed to be quite amused.

/////////////// SECTION ///////////////////

"So let me see if I fully understand. You have at least thirty dead civilian wizards, ten dead Aurors, five dead Hit Wizards and at least 175 dead Muggles. Of course, we really won't know for some time how many wizards and Muggles have had their souls sucked out and turned into Inferi by Death Eaters and their pet Dementors. Or is that the Dementors and their pet Death Eaters…? Anyhow, the Muggle government has declared Marshall Law and has seized full control of the media; part in a desperate but futile attempt to isolate them and to use this as an opportunity to 'clean house.' In Britain alone the Muggles have arrested 35 of their own people in the last five hours and I'm sure there's many more to come. Of course in other countries with active Death Eater groups the attacks have been more or less the same, with the Muggle governments acting accordingly. Everyone's chomping at the bit to find scapegoats and use them as smokescreens for their larger agendas. I believe the last time anything happened at this scale, over 12 million Muggles died and a few thousand wizards. And, despite all of this you are concerned about a small package?" The disembodied wizard's head, tinged in a strange light green color, bobbed aimlessly in the fireplace. The face was etched with a deep scowl that reflected both impatience and disgust.

Rufus Scrimgeour forced a smile on his face. "Jakan, Jakan, please understand that I am asking you if there is something I should know about. We have been grateful for the various things your order has done, albeit rather covertly, but acknowledged by those who are aware. However, and I admit, there is a huge… well, if you will… bias against your group given your rather liberal access to your libraries."

"Liberal access?" Jakan scoffed. "Only the most talented of wizards can find us and even those have to break curses and wards to get into various levels of knowledge. Healing arts, of course, are more easily accessed while the Dark Arts are much, much harder." Jakan looked up and added wistfully, "Yes, we have to clean out the Dark Arts wing every fifty years or so. You'd be surprised on how many bodies you'd fine. The number of ghosts has accumulated as well…"

"Anyhow," Scrimgeour interrupted, clearing his throat. "We are aware of a few things and…"

"You strike me as a wizard who prefers to speak plainly and this attempt at sycophantic beating around the bush does not suit you."

"Very well," Scrimgeour growled, "I shall be blunt - I need to know what the package was about and why two of your members were openly out in Diagon Alley, coincidently or not, at the same time as the attack? Also, were you aware that the woman was declared dead nearly twenty years ago and her reappearance raise questions as to whether or not she was affiliated with Death Eaters? Apparently her one-time companion and the same wizard we suspect is the father of her child – the young man with a rather disturbing talent for the Dark Arts – is a known Death Eater himself. And although the boy did do a commendable deed – albeit his methods were controversial – we must know where you stand."

Jakan raised his eyebrows, obviously surprised. "So the father is alive… it does explain so many things. One of those who just escaped from Azkaban?"

"Let's say that we are quite aware of his location," Scrimgeour replied. "We will be more than willing to share our suspicions with the boy, assuming he even wants to know."

"The contents of the package are confidential. Alastor Moody has it, although I do not think he realizes its significance, if, of course, I'm correct in what it is and why it is important. But that does not matter because it is none of your business. As for Desdemona, she did not have a mark, so I doubt she is a Death Eater and she never stuck me as a supporter. About seventeen years ago she was found a few miles from us by one of our Warlocks, Shuester, who against rules helped her to get into the sanctuary for shelter. This was late March, if I recall correctly – as it has been a while ago – and she was quite pregnant. We intended to put her out after the baby was born, but then it extended for one reason for another and eventually she became a fixture. She was a bright witch and a good organizer. She became invaluable in reconciling the volumes in our vast libraries, so we let her stay. In fact, she and Ignatius rarely left the sanctuary. Only twice that I know of. Once when Ignatius was eight when they went to Diagon Alley to get his wand. A few years early, I know, but he is a very bright boy. She used a disguising charm on the two of them so that they would not be recognized. She was particularly biased against Polyjuice for some odd reason. Apparently the transaction with Mr. Ollivander was particularly stressful and she was terrified ever to return to Britain. I have to acquiesce that even by wizarding standards Ollivander has quite unnatural talents and I assumed he recognized her; if so he elected to keep it a secret. The second time was last night, and that was because of a direct order by me – she need to get over her fear."

"Well, that worked out well, didn't it?"

Jakan cleared his throat and glared at Scrimgeour. "As I was saying, she needed to confront her greatest fear. Ignatius needed to know where he was from and since he is of age, he was free to go along, regardless of his mother's objections. She was entirely too overprotective. She insisted that he be taught here, and fortunately many of the order were quite generous with their time. We were able to arrange for his standard tests discreetly through the German Ministry. She refused that he go to any wizarding school; I would almost believe she was terrified of what would happen if he stepped foot in Durmstrang - and Hogwarts in particular. No, I would say that she was definitely in hiding and protecting the boy from someone… the father or his associates, perhaps?"

"But that leaves the question as to why they were not more covert?" Scrimgeour asked, his face quite sour. "Appearances are everything. The times that the Disciples have appeared in public, or at least have appeared in their regalia, bad things happen. The Goblin Rebellion, Grindelwald's advance on London, now this. Although there has never been any direct connection, please understand that this only escalates the fear in our citizens because they are already petrified with one enemy and if now they perceive two…"

"We never ally ourselves, per se" Jakan said, electing to bypass the implication of Scrimgeour's words. "We are simple librarians who are entrusted with all magical knowledge – a repository and resource to those who are worthy. However, there is a matter of a small debt that we owe Dumbledore, little mess caused by the Dementors and the Inferi, and the murder of Amelia Bones is perhaps a bit too personal… I suppose that it is time that we did a little housecleaning. To help set back the balance, of course."

"So you will back us?" Scrimgrour said hopefully and then cleared his voice praying that he was not projecting his real desperation.

"Well," Jakan said, a sly smile crept on his face, "Let's say that we are the enemy of your enemy."

////////////////// END OF CHAPTER ///////////////////////

Well, hope you liked. Again, sorry for the delay. Comments are greatly appreciated!


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